


pour some misery down on me

by uptownskunk



Series: 100 Fandoms Challenge [21]
Category: DCU, Gotham (TV)
Genre: 100 Fandoms Challenge, Angst, Double Drabble Sequence, M/M, Mutual Non-Con, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 12:00:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18031349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uptownskunk/pseuds/uptownskunk
Summary: While Bruce is investigating a plant of Ivy's invention that's wreaking havoc in Gotham, he and Alfred inadvertently become its latest victims.





	pour some misery down on me

**Author's Note:**

> Three double drabbles in sequence for a total of 600 words. 021/100 for the 100 Fandoms Challenge. Written for prompt #59 – rain. Title from the Garbage song “Only Happy When It Rains”.
> 
> Set in some post-canon future where Bruce is an adult. The mutual noncon in this fic is not explicit but it may still be triggering, so please be cautious if you read.

_Before._

 

The petals are the same perfect shade of blue as the sky on a cloudless summer’s day and they smell as soft as they look, like baby powder cut with sugar. Sweet, but not overwhelming. Delicate, like the feel of silk translated into scent.

There’s nothing about the flower that makes it _seem_ dangerous and yet –

“It doesn’t look as ostentatious as Miss Ivy usually likes them, does it, Master Bruce?” Alfred asks from behind him, his hand clasped on Bruce’s shoulder as he leans over to examine the flower as closely as Bruce is examining it himself.

There’s something about the plant, something that makes him want to touch it, to lean in and bury his nose in its petals for a better smell despite the warning bells ringing in his head telling him what a _bad_ idea that is because he knows what this flower can do – he has the reports from the doctors and police both saying what it can do sitting not even a foot away.

But those warning bells may as well be whispered invitations because Bruce can’t –

He can’t help himself at all.

Like a compulsion is guiding him, Bruce leans in and breathes.

 

*******

 

_During._

 

Somewhere in the back of his fevered mind, what’s left of Bruce’s awareness is honed in on exactly two points – Alfred’s voice and his touch.

Alfred’s shout of warning, his strong hands on Bruce’s shoulders as they pull him out of his chair, away from the flower.

His panicked questions, laced with concern, his hands gentle on Bruce when he turns him around, gentler still when they catch Bruce’s own hands when Bruce can’t help but to reach out and touch yet again, not a flower this time but Alfred – Alfred’s chest, his shoulders, his neck, his

The muffled sound of shock Alfred makes when Bruce presses their lips together, the unyielding feel of them, hard and firm, nonreciprocating while Alfred’s hands settle on Bruce’s shoulders and his fingers spasm there like he wants to push Bruce away but doesn’t want to hurt him.

Bruce is aware of a third thing in the back of his mind, then – the rest of it hot and muffled, wrapped in cotton and that baby powder scent so overwhelming he’s choking on it.

Bruce is aware of the exact moment the flower infects Alfred, too.

It’s the moment Alfred starts kissing him back.

 

*******

 

_After._

 

For a second after Bruce wakes up, he’s filled with the horrible certainty that somehow he’s been transported back in time to the morning after his parents were murdered.

The heaviness in his heart like something has irrevocably changed is the same, the rain pattering against the window is the same, the shadows cast on the walls from what exists of the morning light are the same, and Alfred – sitting on his bed, his warm palm a steady, anchoring weight resting on Bruce’s head, comforting him by gently stroking his hair – is the same, too.

And then in a blink, Bruce realizes it’s not that morning at all.

He realizes he’s naked under the sheets, that his throat feels sore and his hips ache and he aches some place deeper inside of him, too, and suddenly the memories come flooding back.

Oh.

Alfred looks down at him with a face filled with such wretched sorrow that Bruce swallows hard at just the sight of it.

“Master Bruce, I---” Alfred stops his words, choked, and Bruce feels cowardly for it but he closes his eyes anyway.

He grabs Alfred’s hand and squeezes it and just listens to the rain.


End file.
